Encounter of third degree.

Just a poem. Angels' work must be very tiring.

Encounter of third degree

He told me that, you'll have to leave

Time is up now, and you are late

And I should not stall, or deceive

Because he's busy, and cannot wait

I asked him where, we're bound to go

Said this information, is classified

(HE) does not tell, so we don't know

We just deliver, after you've died

Now I guess, I'm on my way

Cause I could not make him stop

And all I know is, I cannot say

If we were going down, or up

For who may wonder, then how did I

Write those lines, after I'm dead?

I say you'll know it, when you will die

Better than asking me instead.